


Aqua Regia

by usermechanics



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dreampunk, Emotional Baggage, F/F, Mirrors, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29367144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usermechanics/pseuds/usermechanics
Summary: Umi looks in the mirror, and at a life she wishes she had.
Relationships: Kousaka Honoka/Sonoda Umi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Aqua Regia

**Author's Note:**

> so originally i wanted this to be a short honoumi drabble but the more i looked into it the more i realized it could stand as its own short story.
> 
> title comes from [this album.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otuGwETUAyc)

Umi likes taking a bath at night. It relaxes her and lets her relieve herself of the stresses that come from her workday.

When Umi bathes, she soaks. She spends a long time in the water, letting the slightly uncomfortable heat soak into her. It’s relieving; the longer she stays, the more she feels it. The warmth seeps into her muscles like an epsom salt, soothing her like it’s a massage.

It’s well-needed every night. It’s her treat to herself. The longer the day, the longer the bath, the longer it takes for her to get all the tension out of her body for a deep sleep, the kind of sleep necessary for her to tackle her day.

Work is stressful. Umi knew this before she inherited the dojo and now that she owns it she knows just how stressful it can be. Knowing kendo is one thing, but business management is another entirely. Business management consumed her time in college, first from getting into the business school of her family’s dreams and then dealing with the waves of homework that made high school seem so trivial. It’s where her late-night baths came from; she needed something to divide her hours of schoolwork from her hours of sleeping and it stuck even to this day.

These memories routinely come into her mind, only to melt in the heat of the bath and become the steam that radiates from the tub. Every kind of thought disintegrates in the water like salt, like a search for nirvana nightly. It never quite happens, but the calmness Umi has whenever she leaves is almost always peaceful.

Umi feels that placidity right now, and the bath water is sudsy. Her ritual has ended, the white-walled bathroom having served its most important duty to her. She grabs the side of the tub with one hand and, with all her might, she pushes herself out of the tub.

Even with the weight of the water falling off her body as she re-emerges, she still has to push up her body weight from the tub. It’s usually the last bit of effort she has to do every day, and she uses the bits of energy that still remain inside her from her bath to get out.

When Umi stands up, she feels rejuvenated, refreshed, like she’s back in high school. It doesn’t matter that college was a blur of time ago. It’s the kind of refreshment that only a warm bath could provide in its womb-like embrace. It’s its own version of rebirth, and like Venus, she emerges from the water.

Sometimes, when Umi emerges from her bath, she’s so relaxed she feels like she’s a somnambulist. In comes a deep breath, and out comes a yawn; sleep is on the mind. There is no time more perfect than before bed to bathe the way Umi bathes. Even when she steps out of the water, she walks through her bath-induced fog, the residual steam that leaves the mirror across the room blurry.

Umi turns around and pulls the plug in the bathtub. The water is unnecessary now. She turns right back around afterwards, takes a step forward, and wipes off the mirror with her forearm.

Umi looks in the mirror. She sees herself, the tub behind her, and the door to her right. She blinks, and the reflection blinks right back, perfect synergy between her and her reflection. Even as the mirror fogs up slightly, every minor motion, from the way that Umi’s eyes focus on the fogging mirror and squint through it, and the slow roll of her neck to stretch her shoulders out, is perfectly reflected by the mirror.

Umi blinks and rubs the mirror again.

Umi looks in the mirror, and everything behind her. There’s nobody else there. There shouldn’t be anyone else there. Umi’s been the only person in her apartment ever since she got it. Not that she doesn’t invite friends from college occasionally to liven up her space. Most of the time, though, Umi’s alone in her apartment.

Her mirror lets her know that, and the coldness that comes with it. It’s not a coldness that can rub into her skin and muscles like the bath warmed her up. It’s a coldness she feels only in her gut, right underneath her heart.

In Umi’s mind, the slightest bit of a melody plays in her head. The notes bubble up in her head, and the words bubble up from the heart. It’s only five notes, but Umi catches herself mouthing it.

“Aa, Honoka na…”

It’s a melody she sang back in high school and the moment the words come from her lips, Umi quiets herself. She brings a hand to her lower lip and runs her fingers down it. Nothing new has come out. Umi takes a deep breath, but doesn’t yawn. Yawning doesn’t relieve Umi.

Umi looks in the mirror again, not at herself but at the fog that’s behind her. Her bathroom is lit with fluorescent lights and the walls are as pure a white as a wedding dress; there is no excuse for the fog to be orange in any way, but in the mirror, she can see the hue behind her. It’s a bright reddish-orange, mainly concentrated right behind her, shaped like a helmet.

That’s not what concerns Umi the most. What does is the extension of orange to the right of the helmet. It’s reminiscent of hair.

Umi looks over her shoulder. The steam behind her is white. She blinks a few times and then looks back in the mirror.

Umi’s heart skips a beat. The steam is orange, and the helmet is filled with a very light sepia. It’s almost like a figure is forming right behind her, one that she can’t see without the mirror. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She’s not even given the benefit of the hands emerging from the steam to have one of them covering her mouth.

Instead, one wraps around her waist, and the other caresses her hand. It’s like a reversal of how Umi slept with her all those years ago. The fog feels so warm, so protective. It’s the embrace of someone who’s wrapped up around her. It’s addicting being in its caresses, and she looks over her shoulder.

There is no figure in the smoke, and where her hands are on Umi’s body suddenly feel cold. It’s not the kind of coldness where something cold has touched her. It’s the opposite; it’s like the warmth from her bath has been drained from her body. Umi shivers.

Beyond the steam, the bathtub is empty. There is no place for Umi to look besides the mirror, and she does so with bated breath.

Umi looks at the mirror. Her cheeks are white, and the figure has returned. As its hand runs along Umi’s cheeks, color returns, like the figure is brushing it onto her and she is but a doll. Her body still runs cold, and upon closer examination, she notices the figure’s lips.

They’re painted that light pink that she always wore. They’re curled up in a smile. They’re pressed up against Umi’s ear, and she hears a faint inhale.

“…yokan kara hajimari…”

Umi wants to scream, but once again nothing comes out. The figure sang in her voice, took her mannerisms and even her appearance. But she is supposed to be gone from Umi’s life. In her other ear Umi heard the pledge that she made to her.

“We’ll see each other again, right?”

Why did the disbandment hurt so much?

Why does it hurt more now than it did when it was happening?

Umi blinks.

The figure is gone, but in the mirror, the bathroom is different. The bathtub is to her left, behind her is the door. Umi looks over her shoulder, but her bathroom hasn’t changed one bit in reality. In the mirror, though, it’s changed.

Umi looks in the mirror, wondering about the strangeness of the reflection. She reaches up to rub her eyes, and her reflection does not follow her. Umi’s breath hitches, but she rubs her eyes anyway; she has more of a reason now than she did before.

After rubbing her eyes, Umi returns all attention to the mirror, faux bathroom and faux reflection staring right back at her.

She hears the door behind her, and sees the doorknob in the reflection turn. The door opens, and even if Umi can’t see what’s behind the threshold, she knows exactly who steps in from the abyss.

The Umi in the reflection looks over her shoulder, and in Umi’s head she can hear what the reflection says.

“Honoka?”

The words are without the weight that Umi would use if she suddenly saw Honoka walk into her bathroom without an announcement. It’s even more chilling. The words are casual, calm, welcoming. They’re welcoming enough that Honoka steps into the bathroom and, in the same way the figure wrapped herself around Umi, Honoka wraps herself around Umi’s reflection.

Umi feels nothing but a raging pang in her heart. The sight in front of her is too painful to watch, and she closes her eyes.

Honoka is fainter in the mirror than in Umi’s mind’s eye. She’s the center of the backdrop in her mind, otherwise a scenic view of the Tokyo skyline from the perspective of the base of her apartment. She’s behind all the buildings, but tall enough that Umi can still see her. She looms, standing there, the buildings hiding every bit of Honoka’s body that Umi can decry as shameless.

Umi can’t bring herself to say it either way. She doesn’t want to make their first meeting in forever one that Honoka regrets. There’s so much on her mind, words and phrases she wished she said way back when they were kids but never found the right time to say—maybe there was never going to be a right time to say them for her—and just like when she was a kid the words struggle to come out.

And yet, Honoka smiles. She smiles the same smile that’s on her face whenever she’s doing anything. It’s that resting smile of hers, the kind that makes the warmth from her bath seem like that from a bath of ice cubes.

All Umi can do is reach out, extend her arm as far as she can.

Umi revels at the distance she can reach. Her hand is merely a few degrees away from resting on Honoka’s shoulder. It’s only inches above her.

Unable to swallow the lump in her throat, Umi lowers her hand and rests it on Honoka’s shoulder.

She pushes down.

She’s unable to.

Honoka’s body feels soft.

Umi pushes down a few more times, to no avail. It’s like Honoka is real.

“What are you doing, Umi-chan?”

Honoka’s smile grows. It’s so sweet and irresistible. It’s the kind of smile that made Umi realize back in high school that she wished that all those cheesy romantic comedies that Kotori introduced her to where childhood friends became lovers could be true.

She wishes they were true right now, just in case she ever had a chance to stay by Honoka’s side forever.

Umi wants it more than ever.

She wants her.

She needs her.

Umi tries to pull Honoka close, but it’s like her elbow is frozen. She’s unable to pull Honoka with just her arm. It’s like she’s a statue, one who can talk to her and give that warming smile. Umi braces herself and pulls with all her might, but her shoulder bumps up against something behind her. It hurts enough for Umi to open her eyes.

When Umi opens her eyes, she’s not standing in front of her mirror but she’s in her bath, looking at the white, fluorescent-lit ceiling. Her head is above water, but not much else is.

Was today really that long?

Umi pulls herself out of the tub. She doesn’t feel the rejuvenation she wishes she could, but she knows that there’s only one thing that could alleviate that.

Umi pulls out the plug in her tub and looks at the mirror. She stares and looks and observes just waiting for something to happen but nothing ever does. All that happens is that the steam dissipates, leaving Umi naked and staring at herself in the mirror.

There is only one thing that Umi can do to bring her mind at ease.

* * *

Honoka stretches in her bed and lets out one final yawn to her darkened bedroom. It’s loud and shameless; there’s nobody she can awaken with it.

Then, out of nowhere, her phone lights up and starts ringing.

It’s from Umi.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i haven't done ll in awhile; it's been hard finding inspiration but i felt something with this, about umi being able to look into her emotional baggage and finding out just how much she wanted to be with honoka. idk.


End file.
